Iron-Blooded Warriors
by Commander Xillian
Summary: When an accident breaches the barrier between realities, a team of Mercenaries must fight their way to safety through a hostile solar system to repair their one way home. Unknown by them, home is far gone, many years sideways and before them. It comes down to these masters of titanic Gods of War to write their own history, and rewrite the fate of Mars and Earth.
1. Chapter 1

Authors' Preface:

Hello my new friends! I have begun writing this story as part-and-parcel to my friend trying to get me to watch Gundam. I'll be making some inaccurate characterizations, some mistakes, but I promise to do my math and research. I'm completely new to Gundam, but not to BattleTech, so I do hope you enjoy this ride as I get my own feet wet. Without further ado, here are the first two chapters! I hope you enoy, and any feedback is appreciated.

[+BEGIN TRANSMISSION+]

 **August 3rd, 3032**

 **Battle of Soret Pass**

Missiles screamed across the sky, fire in the air. Their explosion cut through the thick smoke, the red light of hellfire back-lighting three towering figures. Moments after the light died down, Spears of Red and Blue washed out from them. The fog had rolled in despite mankind's insistence on war, and so mankind proceeded regardless. Nature could not restrain the wrath of Earth's Children.

Tanks fired back and forth across the no-man's-land created by the tug of war, ruined fortifications amid coniferous forests aflame. Smoke bled to the sky like an open wound in water and a thunder no god of storms could make rolled through the valley.

It was the march of the ultimate war machines, The BattleMechs.

Laser-light gave no silhouette for the battle, only a bridge for these metal Gods of War to carry their targets to the next life. An explosion, a fuel Depot for the Outpost within the valley detonated, and a skulled machine in the shape of a man leered down, bright white warpaint upon it's six-stories-up face.

Another explosion, this time below it's elbow, the roar of an ancient dragon roused from it's slumber to murderous purpose. The light of the flaming fuel began to die, black smoke choking out vision. It was a terrible day to die, yet die men must before those awesome Titans, their bravery and honor snuffed out before the iron-shod boots of Giants.

This was the world Roric Gustav. Born into the saddle of a BattleMech, he inherited his machine from his father as did his before that, all the way back to the first succession war in 2786. By now, almost three-hundred years later, the methods of war had little changed. Before all warriors, there was the MechWarrior. Before all weapons, there was the BattleMech. One could not exist without the other, and for as long as one was needed, war would continue in such a way; of Giants hurling slings and arrows of fire and light, as the small-folk fought and died around them. Such was life, such was the Inner Sphere.

The crying child was clutched tightly by his mother aboard the DropShip "Forwards Unto Glory", the pains of childbirth fading. Little newborn Roric would never know a life of peace; his father was below, piloting his birthright "Thor", the greatest of BattleMechs his family owned. The battle was a short four Kilometers away, close enough to hear the explosions and battle, far away enough to be safe. His father would not return from this battle.

Dying in the defense of a nation that paid him the bare minimum and offered the most lean of salvage rights, he did so with honor, to topple an Atlas that was attacking a retreating convoy. His honor and nobility in the battle, and across the inner sphere during his long career, earned the Gustav family the return of his body and his Mech, despite the prize a King Crab would be worth. His killer, Lieutenant Hans Steiner-Davion, personally saw the honorable MechWarrior returned.

Some years later, when Roric Gustav was twelve, he would receive a gift from the Lyran Prince, a selection of salvaged parts to help rebuild the King Crab "Thor", with the instruction to ensure the ejection module was well maintained. The two would never meet again. To some, MechWarriors were knights. To others, simple tank jockies with an ego. The example played by the Prince and the reputation of his father made Roric Gustav think of himself as the former, and when he was 17, he took command of his mercenary outfit, now diminished from years of scraping by, re-branded them "Roric's Rangers" and set them on-course for a long campaign of chivalrous contracts and proud service.

[+INCOMING TRANSMISSION+]

 **3058, Lyran Space**

 **Battle of Eisenvania**

Battle damage from more than a hundred years marred Thor's beautiful blue-and-white paint job. Atop the cabin, looking out at the forest of pines from above the treetops, sat the now-mature Roric Gustav. This was his first battle with Thor, she was finally finished, finally repaired. Around him, a pair of Phoenix Hawks painted in Davion Red and Gold lay shattered, their heads cleanly launched from their bodies. It was a civil war, the Federated Commonwealth was sundering under the machinations of Archon Katrina of the so-called "Lyran Alliance". The greatest hope for peace the Inner Sphere had ever known, the bulwark against the terror of the clans, was dead. Roric looked down, leaning over the side of his King Crab, as the two MechWarriors he defeated made their way towards him.

His father's reputation for nobility made the younger Gustav a popular figure, allowing enemies to live was a saintly thing and offering to let them leave and return home, beyond what most would consider. They climbed atop the feet of the King Crab, taking the offer for a ride to the nearest village. There they would be on their own. He had no stake in this conflict; this was his Ranger's last battle, after this they were headed to the Periphery for some R&R and cakewalk assignments.

The payout from this mission was delicious: Thirteen-million C-Bills, 1/6th salvage, and a full arsenal of ammunition for ten battles to secure the planet. His Mercs would be eating well for months, and with a few small jobs, like escorts and outlaw bounties, they could probably sit out the worst of this civil war far from the fighting.

He slid down the hatch, flicking his long-dead cigar away into the forest. His boots hit the deck of the spacious cockpit within the King Crab and he sat himself in the pilot seat. He didn't bother putting on a Neurohelmet, opting instead of a fairly easy strut at a comfortable 30 km/h. The journey to civilization took half an hour, and when he stopped to allow the Federated Suns MechWarriors off, they were too glad of the freedom. A stomping robot was nice, but not if you had to ride up and down on it's feet.

"Command to Leo," chirped the radio. Roric reached for it, keying twice.

"Leo, go ahead command."

"The JumpShip had pulled into Orbit, and the entire company is on board. We are landing at Echo Ten to retrieve you."

"Copy, Echo Ten, en-rout," Roric spun the 100-ton Mech around; E10 on the local map put him five minutes away going at Max speed. He pushed the throttle up to 80%, deciding to enjoy the cool air a little more. Leaving the walk to Thor, he climbed the ladder to the hatch, and propped himself up on the roof again. Without his Neurohelmet on, he could be sitting anywhere on the Mech and it would mind it's footing just as well. The computers programming kept it from taking any risks to itself or it's pilot, unless he told it to. So he closed his eyes, and enjoyed the Alpine air.

His precious few minutes of calm were ended by the roar of the DropShip Forwards Unto Glory, a powerful thousand-ton cargo space ship designed to carry, maintain, and house BattleMechs and their MechWarriors. It was his second home; his first would always be Thor. Slipping down to the control seat once more, he slowed to a stop and waited for the DropShip to touch down. The boxy space ship opened up it's rear door and, after a moment, Roric walked Thor into it's mooring. With practiced ease it's feet clipped into it's anchors and the bay doors sealed.

The process of powering down the BattleMech was long, with a lot of it relegated to technicians and mechanics. Roric simply brought the Reactor to standby, brought all systems offline, and exited his hatch. A gantry had connected to the top of the King Crab, and as it's anchor platform began to move forwards with an alarm, the gantry kept pace. His boots rattled off the metal grating as he left Thor, which began to spin around in place now that he was no longer onboard. He rode the Gantry a little further, before stepping off and making his way to the command center of the DropShip.

"Welcome back, sir," called out Second Officer Alianna Ra as he entered the room from the MechBay. She was his ace MechWarrior and piloted "Reaper", the only BattleMech with a higher total kill count than any other Mech in his crew, except for Thor, combined. Solo, the lifetime of war Thor had experience put it just ahead of the Ace's Mech, but only by three. The Egyptian tart's call-sign was apt, if a bit pretentious. "The deck is yours."

"Thank you, Ra. Skipper, if you please," he called over the intercom at the command desk, a large panel of controls looking out over the MechBay with the impressive Command center behind him, and blue lights began to flash across the ship, "take us up and out."

The DropShip shuddered as the crew rushed to get buckled in for the atmospheric departure, Roric strapping himself into his seat in the command center. It was a large room, a holo-glass window looking out into the MechBay, a central hologlobe detailing geographical details of the operations area, multiple support stations for radio and technical command and control, and a small kitchen with three coffee makers. Only the essentials. Lieutenant Ra was strapped in near one of the support consoles, and a handful of the eighty-man Merc company were in with them as well.

Gravity gave out as Roric surveyed his ship's heart, and the lights flicked back on to full brightness, the alarms dying unceremoniously. He unbuckled himself and kicked off, drifting towards the rear door that lead to the helm. On either side, ladder wells lead to the hanger deck above and the crew quarters below. On top of their six BattleMechs, Roric's Rangers had a wing of six fighters, three Lucifer's and three Lance's, with a single Ahab heavy bomber to their name. The fighters were what gave the Mercenary outfit their independence, they could rely on themselves for support and clear coverage. Space or dirt, Roric's Rangers could handle it.

The door to the helm slid down, and the three pilots for the DropShip barely noticed;

"-for the same reason!"

"That's bullshit and you know it, that match was RIGGED!"

"Get that Capellan bullshit out of here, Stump Grinder lost fair and square-"

"Duncan never lies, he saw the match, he called it. That was a clean sweep."

"Are you being a sore loser again, Skipper?" Called Roric, floating between the lead pilot and his right most engineer he was arguing with.

"No sir, just telling Shi-Lang over there-" he pointed to the man in question with a flip of the bird, "that I'm not falling for his damn lies!"

Angry Chinese filled the helm as the two argued again over the latest Solaris match they decided to bet on. Roric felt like stepping in would be poor judgment, as long as the money stayed on the ship and among the crew, he'd let them gamble away. Still, "I don't need you strangling my Engineer, Qi Seong, cool it down a heat sink."

"Aye aye, Captain," he answered, fuming to himself, "we are approaching the JumpShip now, should be a quiet journey to Canopus."

"Catgirls," howled the otherwise-silent communications specialist, "and fine dining! Oh Captain you do so treat us.

"Don't spend every single C-Bill you earned on lap dances from a mermaid, Bjorneson," cautioned the engineer, laughing.

"JumpShip in sight," interrupted Seong, "preparing for final docking. JumpShip CSS 733, this is DropShip Forwards in Glory requesting permission to dock, over... Correct, payment upon docking... Understood, docking collar Zed-Two-Alpha."

The JumpShip was a spectacular sight. A massive metal sail moved in the solar winds, charging the powerful JumpDrive. It was multiple orbiting rings, each boarded by DropShips of commercial nature. The Great Houses owned their own JumpShips, and could afford to shuttle their own armies. Private JumpShips, or those run by CommStar, handled the rest. Rules of war dictated such targets were off-limits, given replacing JumpShips was impossible, making such neutral shuttling a lucrative, peaceful life.

"Hmm... Skipper, contacts off the starboard... That's... Shit, Clan Warship on the scanners!"

"Continue docking," called Seong, "they're still a ways out, and if we get left behind we are good as dead."

The JumpShip that bore the IFF of the Clans disgorged DropShips laden with fighters and weapons, some even bearing BattleMechs of their own. Anyone present knew what was next; the Tukayyad Accord didn't extend this far west, it only halted the Clans from southward attacks.

"We're docked. Payment is wired, CSS 733, plus a tip."

Roric tossed himself backwards, and grabbed onto a ladder as he passed it, swinging around and yanking himself upwards.

"All Pilots, to stations! We have confirmed Clan presence! If we are getting out of this it's gonna be a close one," Roric paused, his CommBead clicking, "Gustav, go ahead."

"Skipper, the JumpShip refunded our docking fee, in exchange for our fighters running interference. Those tube-kids are coming right for us."

Roric changed channels, "All pilots, this is not a drill, to your stations. Clan fighters inbound, protect the DropShip and the JumpShip."

The flight deck began to screamed with alarms, and Roric pulled himself a deck below. Shortly after, void-suited technicians and Pilots sailed upwards. Fighters were given their final check, crews boarded and pilots were placed into their cockpits. The flight deck sealed with a hatch over each stairwell, and the air was pumped out.

Lieutenant Ra was already at the command consoles, barking orders. Roric floated beside her, stopping himself on her shoulder, "Contacts?"

"They have three stars of heavy bombers inbound, and four wings of 30 to 40 ton interceptors."

Roric grimaced, he hoped the other DropShips on this tub had their own fighter compliments, or this might he more than hairy real quick. Valkyrie and Warrior wings covered Niddhogg 0 as it coasted in for a counter-bombing of the Clan bombers. The hologlobe gave an accurate 3d map of events, and when the seven squares of Ranger's fliers touched the clan's, a flood of damage readouts and hit confirmations overflowed into the control center. Technicians at the two consoles fed positional data and tactically updates to the jockeys in space, while the Comms team relayed the situation to the JumpShip.

Roric's Rangers were alone out there, with significant damage to Valkyrie 2 and 5, and Warrior 1 making a return to the DropShip due to an ammo explosion badly damaging it beyond combat usefulness. Niddhogg 0 ate shots like the death-brick it was, and when the crew announced an alpha strike away, multiple OpFor bombers flashed off the board. Despite that, the Clans came, and the mercenaries were alone.

"Captain! A DropShip has detached and is making a run for the planet!"

The crew watched in horror as a merchant runner tried to escape, but a wing of fighters broke off to pick it apart.

"They made their Gambit," Roric called out, "defend your home and defend this JumpShip. Helm, I want point defense on our dorsal mounts to cover Warrior 1, he's almost home."

"...Aye aye, sir. Covering Warrior 1."

Roric could hear the concentration in Seong, having to prioritize targets for the guns to Target. Were the DropShip free, it's own laser batteries could be brought against the Clan's ships.

"Sir, new fighters on the board," Roric turned, and several blue interceptors and heavy fighters launched from another DropShip, this one clearly a freighter. They joined the green Ranger fighters and helped push the red blocks from closing to the JumpShip, "Sir, message from the JumpShip, we are charged. Once all fighters are onboard, we're out of here."

"Command to Niddhogg, Valkyrie, Warrior, get back on this ship if you want to leave. We are set to depart!"

The blue icons covered the green as Roric's fighters returned to his DropShip, before beating their own retreat. One good turn for their own sacrifices. The Clan fighters were turning themselves, likely to flag any escape pods for collection. Despite the traded blows, only two ships had been taken out completely, a pair of medium bombers.

Roric breathed a sigh of relief, "We made it, ever-" an explosion echoed through the ship. Multiple warnings flashed across the Hologlobe. The JumpShip, mid-launch, was struck by a ship-killer. A torpedo, launched from one of the bombers.

"All hands, brace!" Roric called out as the JumpShip made the Hyperjump with a bleeding jump generator. There was a power surge, lights went out, and gravity slapped everyone square in the stomachs. A high pitched screech filled the DropShip followed by a smell of spiced wine. Then, stillness. Silence.

"Report!" Roared Roric, staggering to his feet despite the impossibility of that in space. His words left his mouth like molasses, as he watched the air in front of him move, actually move. His eyebrow furrowed in confusion as he watched others ripple the air with their speech. Then, gravity vanished, every sound in the room hit him at once, and the spiced wine smell vanished, replaced with grease, coffee, and sweat.

"Sir, did you just..."

Roric looked to the confused engineer, nodding himself.

"Whatever just happened," Alianna quickly shouted, "we are lucky to be alive. One thing at a time."

Roric nodded, and pushed himself to the helm. The power was still out, so the door had to be manually opened. He braced against the frame and tugged on the emergency release. After two good pulls, it gave, and the door snapped open.

"Captain, the Reactor is down. We're getting nothing from up here," called out Shi-Leng, "but we can see lights on the JumpShip still. We think we made it intact."

Before them, out the window to the void, like a cold, small planetoid, ice and rock bare upon it's surface. Beyond, a large orange star.

"I want communications with the JumpShip before we make any moves," Roric ordered, "and I want our Reactor online before we suffocate to death."

It was going to be a while before Roric's Rangers finally got some R&R, the Mercenary Captain thought. A long time indeed.

Repairs and bringing the fusion Reactor back online took only two hours; long enough for temperatures to get high, but not so close that breathing was difficult. When the oxygen returned, practically the entire crew crowded into the crew quarters to enjoy the cool air.

Roric remained on the bridge; the MechWarriors were used to heat like this. Alianna was checking the communications with the JumpShip half-naked while Patrikov, the pilot to "Speed Demon", seemed the most at ease.

"Scratch," called Alianna, earning a sideways glance from the smaller clan-born Merc, "why the shit are you still wearing all of that?"

'Scratch' was the nickname the Clanner had earned from his horrible skill at Pool despite his insistence he was a natural. He didn't refuse it, so it worked well enough.

"Trueborn warriors don't have the same issues with keeping cool you Freebirth do," he answered, "not to be a snob."

"I heard the Clans had a eugenics program," Roric said, looking up from the life support feed, "but you're honestly telling me you were bred specifically to keep cool?"

"Among other things. I was purpose bred to be a perfect MechWarrior," he replied, though after a pause he tossed an eyebrow at his commander, "I thought you already knew all of that?"

"I thought it was just some Marik 'pure blood' bullshit," Roric confessed, "You actually mean they do the whole Darwinian breeding thing?"

"Kerensky no," Scratch swore, using the name of the legendary general in place of a deific figure. Might have been one in the same to the Clanner, "We Truebirth come from steel mothers. Nothing as-"

"Much as I love your commentary on Clan barbarities-" cut in Alianna loudly, "We just got a report back from the JumpShip. Their hyper drive is fried. They're negotiating with the other vessels right now, seems there is a factory DropShip onboard and a mining ship."

"Tell them they have our fighters. We're getting out of this together or not at all."

"Aye aye, oh and that Trade ship that sent their fighters to help sent us a query for any spare repair parts we need," she whistled slightly, adding under her breath, "I like these guys."

"Thank them, tell them I will get a manifest together," Alianna nodded to Roric, and he spun about and made his way to the ladder well. He floated lazily down to the crew quarters, the cool air giving his bare arms goose-flesh, but ignored it in favor of finding his AeroFighter crew chief. "Langdon! Where are you, I need a moment."

The well-fed New Avalon native made his way over, smiling happily as usual, "Aye, sir, what' cannae do fer you?" After a brief exchange, a few moments tossing emails across tablets, and a shot of Federated Suns whiskey courtesy of the crew chief, Roric had his details and forwarded them to his second. She'd handle the rest of that, leaving him to get a little quiet after all the commotion.

First, a Clan raid as they were leaving for some rest, and now they were stranded out in god-knew-where. As far as he cared, guarding this ship with AeroFighters while it repaired would be the most R&R they would be getting for some time before getting out of the system. That meant making the most of it. The whole crew lived together, and strict rations would get their heckles up. To keep order, he'd probably keep them busy with maintenance, but some extra free time to regret their free time should do them wonders.

Nothing quite like being stranded to help you get into trouble, he supposed. He was glad he could have some time to free float. Honestly, floating didn't get that old.

"Captain," one of the crew hands called out, hoisting an intercom receiver, "for you," With a groan, Roric swung himself around. Ah well, he needed the extra work. Not like he had been running practically non-stop since his crew went into the previous battle.

"Gustav here," he answered deadpan. He wanted this over and done with.

"This is Princeps Valton, CommStar," replied the voice, "I wanted to inform you of a few things... Personally. When is the soonest you can make your way up to the bridge of the JumpShip?"

"We just got out life support online, it'll take some time for the crew to be set for any departures. Maybe-" he paused to think of a proper time frame.

"Understood," replied the CommStar officer, "we will send a shuttle to retrieve you. Do you need any repair crew?"

"Oh..." Roric paused, looking around. Everything... Seemed, fine. "No, no sir. We are all set down here."

"Wonderful, be ready in half an hour. I am eager to meet you," the line died, and Roric gave a hard, long exhale, sailing backwards.

"... shit. RA!"

The crew got out of the way as he hurled himself to the ladder well, and with a yank went up a deck. "Ra, get a shirt on we're going to-" Roric stopped dead, eyebrows up. Floating in the middle of the room, Alianna was putting on a ballistic vest, dressed in fatigues, "Oh. Alright."

"Sir?"

"Oh, nothing, I just didn't know you heard me. Wait, were you eavesdropping?"

"Uh.. a little."

Roric stared. Well, she was his right hand woman... That said, something was off. Roric looked around, "Where's scratch?"

"Oh, that big baby," she shrugged, "hurt his feelings. He's probably going to hide in his Crab or something."

"... Goddamn it, Ra..."

"Hey! You said," she pushed herself towards her Captain, "when we brought that Clanner on, I was to be civilized. I have been. I've been the picture of civilized."

Roric put his hand to his face, "Ra he had been on the crew for three years," he sighed, "let up on the sorry bastard. He's been through enough,"

She shrugged, and almost brushed it off, "Oh no. You're gonna apologize for this. I'm tired of your bullshit."

Roric spun around and pushed himself up to the flight deck, "After you're done, get up here. We have a ride to catch."

Roric spent the next half hour dressing into a void suit kept on the flight deck for him. Ra was a bit behind, but was a faster dress-down than he was. The CommStar ship wasn't far behind their finished preparations, and a few flight team crew came up to help the landing. A few CommGuard with Laser Rifles stood at the door to the shuttle, though they greeted the Mercs warmly. The interior was bare and hard the necessary crash seats for atmospheric travel, but they were unnecessary for the zero-G ferrying that it was being used for now.

The ride was quiet, the CommGuard their usual, quiet selves. The Cyborgs occasionally smiled, or made a quiet laugh; Roric assumed they were talking through some sort of internal radio or whatever Wizardry the crazies in CommStar thought was necessary. They weren't armored up so that was nice, they seemed more personable.

"We're here. Might want to set yourselves feet-wise, the JumpShip has simulated gravity," one of the CommGuard helpfully added. Roric and Ra both set their feet "downwards", and sure enough, they began to feel a bit of a draw as the shuttle docked. They were pointed towards a hatch, and climbing a ladder made their way into the JumpShip proper.

It was a maze of white Stone and polished metal, with stained glass of 'Blessed Blake', their holy figure, occasionally showing some religious function. An Aid was waiting for the two as they climbed up and out, and they were introduced promptly, "I am Princeps Kalgor, Valton is waiting for you in one of our board rooms. If you would?" He motioned, and the two Mercs followed closely.

The trip was mercifully sweet and their arrival was Swift and unassuming. They were ushered inside, and Roric got his first look at his host. An older man with many cybernetic body parts, a few other ship captains were present as well. He nodded and slipped into a nearby seat. Ra on the other hand chose standing behind him over sitting.

"Good, good, we are all here," began who Roric assumed to be Valton, something he confirmed rather quickly, "I am pleased your journey was successful. I am Princeps Valton, and I have asked you all here because of the situation onboard the JumpShip. I will spare you the fine details," he said, leaning forwards, "however after our initial damage report, we believe we may need some special resources to fabricate replacements for our damaged Jump drive. The rumor that it is 'toast', is false; were that the case, we would all be stranded. It is however, damaged and strained, and needs repairs before we attempted another jump.

"We have identified another planet in this solar system which may have the resources we need," the room darkened and a holographic display of the system appeared. It was fairly simple, with eight planets and an asteroid belt, "which we believe to be on this planet."

The view magnified to a sizable red planet with scattered depressions and canyons, heavily damaged by meteors or volcanoes.

"We will be using our primary propulsion to make our way there. While en-rout..."

The talk continued for hours. Eventually, a dinner was served, courtesy of the Princeps and CommStar, and an understanding was reached regarding services. Everyone, except for the Mercenary crew and the traders, would pitch in for repairs. Those two would be kept partial in reserve, their spare hands doing what they could while their military forces were on standby. If something happened, Roric's Rangers would act in the interest of the JumpShip, while the Trader fighters would remain as protective detail. All in all, a workable arrangement. The journey to the red planet was a slow one, but the brief system-only test jump sped it up by more than a few months. The drive still worked, but it couldn't sustain travel. The gulf between this star and the next would be an impassible one until the jumpdrive was repaired.

[+END TRANSMISSION+]

 **MechProfile** : King Crab KGC-005

 **Class** : Assault

 **Armaments** : LB-20-X Autocannon in each claw, Extended Range Large Laser under the cockpit, two pairs of four Short ranged Missile "Streak" tubes in rear left torso

The King Crab is a 100-Ton Battlemech, first developed in the year 2743 as a MechKiller, its use has remained relevant and is a feared enemy on the battlefield. While possessed of a wide torso, making it an easy target, and disgustingly slow, (a meager 32 km/h,) the King Crab packs a pair of AC/20s which are devastating cannons capable of beheading another Mech with a single shot. Despite being lower armored than some of its peers in class, the King Crabs nature is one of a brutal killing machine, something few can compete with. Its allotted tonnage is dedicated to weapons systems and ammunition, making it a skirmish mech that requires often re-arming. While its faults are derided as being not worth the hastle by some Commanders, few MechWarriors would turn down the opportunity to annihilate their enemy with one of the most well-known BattleMechs in the Inner Sphere, pre-dating even the lauded and feared Atlas.


	2. Chapter 2

[+BEGIN TRANSMISSION+]

Two months total passed. Food supplies were being tapped into but were predicted to hold out for a whole year. The idea had been tossed around to push on to a world just past the red planet, given it appeared to have atmosphere and liquid water, but the idea was shot down for the time being; resources diverted from travel repairs could have a significant impact on efforts to escape the system, time-wise. Any harvesting or growing to sustain their time would have a scaling effect on how much longer they would need to keep farming instead of mining and fabricating.

Gabriel MacEwin, also known by his calllsign 'Niddhogg 1', stood on the flight deck of the Forwards Unto Glory, looking over the repairs to Warrior 1. It was, practically speaking, done. A few coats of paint and she was good as new. Those Clanners did one hell of a number, that was for certain.

"Attention! All hands, to your stations!" The intercom screeched just as Alarms began to blare, "Contacts detected, prepare for launch!"

Great.

"Arite ladies!" He yelled in his deep Welsh accent, "We've a job to do, hop onnit!"

The flight deck became a whirl of activity. Repair crews cleaned up and secured their tools with record speed and precision, moving with practiced ease and fluidity. MacEwin himself pushed off to the right hand ladder well and grabbed it before he crashed face first.

Zero G made launches easier, but it didn't help getting around sometimes.

He pulled himself to the crew quarters, where the fighter jockies were getting geared up. His two co-pilots, the Sensors Chief and Gunner to Niddhogg 0, had his flight suit out and ready.

"That's a lad," he clasped his Gunner Niddhogg 2 on the shoulder as he sailed towards them, stopping and rushing to pull his suit on, "Got us some action aye?"

"Against what?" Asked Cass Newell, Niddhogg 3, "Meteors? Clan? We're way out in nowhere. We even checked for Hyper-pulse signals, this place is off the system."

"Whatever," responded 'Torch', the aptly nicknamed Gunner, "Whenever, we got to keep our home safe. That's the paycheck, that's the job."

"Can ya calm down," sighed Gabriel, looking annoyed at Torch, "Why ya always gotta be so serious, Torch?"

"Seriously Cass," Torch kept up, "We wanted something to do, and I love a good drill much as the next guy, but now we got a live one."

"Gabe, back me up here!" Cass bitched, earning him a sideways glare, "I just wanna know what, exactly, we are supposed to he shooting. That's all man," he paused, before moving behind Torch, "Hold on man your suit got caught."

It took them a few more moments of prep before they were all three headed up to the flight deck once again, this time getting themselves situated onboard the Ahab heavy gunship "Niddhogg 0". Boot-up sequences ran across the screens as the pilots strapped in, the Heavy AeroSpace bomber coming online from technicians in the control center. Neurohelmets on, the Pilots slowly checked their instruments once and again.

"Alright, flight check! Atmospheric landing gear check out, atmospheric foils are green..."

"Retro-thruster 4 is in the yellow-"

"Still? Let's reduce 1 again to half power, we don't need to go spinning."

"LRMs are green, all racks reading good. Lasers too, looks set."

"Thrusters fueled, all systems green. Control, this is Niddhogg 1, we are ready for launch."

"Copy that Niddhogg 1, you are cleared for launch. Be advised, Zero G BattleMechs detected, be aware of those firing arcs. Provide fire support to anti-Mech attacks and get Valkyrie to their target."

Niddhogg 3 quirked an eyebrow beneath his helmet, "Wait, Zero G Mechs? That means one of the Houses or some Mercs, right?" Niddhogg 1 shook his head.

"Can't say," he said with some concern, "if it is, I don't want to be Tokyo wing. Those guys are going to have it hard."

Tokyo, the call signs for the lighter fighters deployed by the Trade DropShip from earlier, were relegated to defensive actions largely, letting the more battle-proven Mercs play the role of the assault team. This also meant however that Tokyo would have to sell their lives for the survival of the entire JumpShip, and against BattleMechs in space, that was not a healthy prospect given their light dog-fighting armaments.

Niddhogg 0 spun slowly, the hangar bay pumping it's air out to preserve the valuable resource. The moment the vacuum was established, doors behind each fighter opened, exposing all seven AeroSpace craft to open, raw space.

"Niddhogg 0 launching from Hanger," called Niddhogg 1, "on my mark. Thrusting up.. and.. Mark."

The heavy Ahab gunship rocketed into the void the moment it's clamps released. Across the upper deck of the DropShip, Valkyrie and Warrior wings each launched, Warrior making for the distant enemy while Valkyrie fell behind Niddhogg 0.

"Valkyrie 2, Niddhogg 2, testing comms."

"Loud and clear Valkyrie 2," responded Niddhogg 2, "comms functional."

Silence prevailed for a few minutes as the flight made it's way from the JumpShip, a small red orb in the distance. The silence was broken as multiple red targets appeared on the sensor feed, confirmed hostiles from Warrior Actual, the call sign of the entire Warrior wing. "Niddhogg 3, Valkyrie Actual, we have just received targets, and are awaiting target highlight from Command. Standby."

The enemy slowly came into visual range, albeit needing magnification. A large red objective was painted over a small cigar-ship from which a number of small BattleMechs were floating in a picket position. It only took a moment before they leaned forwards and moved with startling speed towards Warrior 2, who it seemed had drawn too close.

Immediately, missiles streaked from the three fighters at the twenty-some Mechs, one of them taking the combined fire of two of the fighters, and they quickly dodged down and away. The Lancer fighters pressed their momentary advantage, tightening their formation and swooping overhead. Their lasers flashed, fire focused on the BattleMech that had taken two salvo's, and it exploded from the sustained fire.

"Warrior 2 to Niddhogg 0, enemies are on the board, we'll tie them up. Can we get some damage on these things?"

"Warrior 2, Niddhogg 2, we are seeking locks now. We'll be on the board in five seconds..."

There was a soft bell-chime that rapidly dinged, and Niddhogg 3 fired the missiles. Forty some LRMs screamed out towards the mass of 'SpaceMechs' for lack of a better term. Niddhogg 0 began to dive, the wing of Valkyrie throttling up and making directly for the enemy DropShip

"Warrior 3, bogie on your 4, bank left."

"Copy, you got a lock?"

"He's lit up and running- Shit he just juked. He's off you 3."

"Niddhogg 0, just saw your delivery, that's two tangos down and leaving the battlefield."

"Warrior 6, hard up!"

"Damage minimal, mostly to fusilage. I'm still green."

Niddhogg 0 was slow, and listening to the battle between the outnumbered Lancer fighters and the unidentified enemies was torturous. Another salvo of missiles departed for the enemy formation, now thinning to avoid another clustered hit like the previous attack. They weren't stupid that was for certain, which made the few losses the Rangers had taken rather shocking.

"We are in play," called Niddhogg 1, "we're going for grouping Bravo."

"Copy Niddhogg, we'll keep you clear."

"All fighters," Command called out, "We are taking fire from the DropShip Repeat, it is firing upon the Forward Unto Glory. Take it down now!"

The missiles racks on Niddhogg 0 were in overtime, missiles streaming out as rapidly as the loaders could arm them. A green light turned red next to the missile feed, "We're down to two tons, staggering firing."

"Enemies on our Six, Niddhogg 3 take the mediums."

"Copy, Mediums warmed up."

The Ahab gunship slowly spun left and down, and it's two tail lasers flashed, twin Lance's of green taking an arm off the pursuer. It quickly jetted upwards, but couldn't avoid the changing arc of Niddhogg 0. It's escape was cut short as another blast took it in the center torso, spinning it around and out of control.

"SRM lock, firing."

Six heavy-damage missiles flashed outwards, and almost without protest one of the enemy combatants spun and fled, armor and electronics ripped free by the impact of the attack. A few shots bounced off the massive Gunship, but it was entirely superficial.

"Warrior 2, Niddhogg 0, you just bounced a CQC weapon, repeat, dorsal attack bounced."

"CQC? Confirm that Warrior 2?"

"That is a copy, enemy are using CQC weapons and ballistics."

The cockpit of Niddhogg 0 was quiet, before a chuckle from 2 broke it, "That's the stupidest thing I've heard all week."

"Valkyrie Actual, commencing run. We got this thing dead to rights."

The attitude of the SpaceMechs changed immediately, with more than half making to flee to cover their DropShip Those left behind began to swarm for Niddhogg 0, but Warrior 3 and 6 began to trail behind the Ahab gunship, their own missiles and lasers dissuading the attacks.

"Valkyrie 2, you got bogies; get out of there!"

"I've got a bead on the thrusters, keep me covered."

"Valkyrie 2, you're a sitting duck, we can make another-"

"Thrusters down! Haha!"

"You've got four on you! Get clear!"

"Warrior 2 in position, I need you to dive Right Valkyrie 2."

"Can't do, can't do, thruster isn't responding, I think they got me!"

"Valkyrie 1 and 3 are clear, that DropShip is immobile, blind, deaf, and dumb. Niddhogg, you have the rest."

The objective marker fell on the DropShip, and Niddhogg 0 pulled about for a pass. Missiles screamed for the larger spaceship, and a single pod beneath the cockpit fired. A NARC target beacon, it hit the DropShip square and began to feed targeting data back to the Ahab gunship.

"All missiles, FIRE!" yelled Niddhogg 1, and a storm of explosions rocked the side of the DropShip An explosion ran across the side being pounded, before dipping down and running into it's belly; an ammo feed had been hit. Moments later, an explosion rippled across it's nose, and it began to list sideways.

"Command to all units, confirmed kill, it's out of the fight. Get back here, our Point Defenses can screen those BattleMechs off of you."

"Valkyrie 2, Command I have lost my thrusters! Adversaries have disabled my flight controls and I am dead in the water-" Valkyrie 2 stopped, before saying something too softly to be understood.

"Say again Valkyrie 2, you are dead in the water?" Worry was clear in Command's voice, "We are detaching from the JumpShip and coming to get you."

"Negative Command," Valkyrie managed, "I just got hit, my thrusters are wrecked and I am crashing towards the planet."

Silence pervaded space as the Fighters returned to the DropShip True to the comment earlier, it had detached and was now moving into the combat area, making docking easier. That was far from Niddhogg 1s mind however, as there were still enemies on the board. Niddhogg 0 came to a slow pace above the Forward Unto Glory, with Warrior and Valkyrie also forming a defensive ring around the ship.

"Command to Control, you have this?" Command was asking the trade ship in charge of Tokyo if it could handle defending from here.

"Control, we have it from here. Go get your pilot."

"Command, all fighters board for landing and rearming. We are making landfall in ten minutes." Command ordered. Back in the Command Center, Roric looked up, his face set into a hard grimace, "Andrew," he called, and a New Avalon MechWarrior looked up from his seat around the Hologlobe, "we're putting Gungnir in for the retrieval. Get suited and get ready to deploy."

"Yes sir," responded the MechWarrior in question, as he kicked off and floated to the crew quarters. Three minutes later, gravity began to make itself felt; the planet was just below.

"Get Gungnir online," Roric called out, looking into the Mechbay, "what's her status?" 

"Boot-up sequence Initiated"

Sirens screamed, boots rattled metal gantry, lights flashed, and LED strips strobed towards the boarding platforms. Thirty-some engineers hustled to decouple the metal Gods they serviced from their greasy womb, refueling couplings spinning as they were disconnected, a crane moving the last bin of AC/5 ammunition into the left shoulder of the towering, black-and-green God of War, "Systems check successful, reactor fuel check in process"

The Shadow Hawk.

With the word "Gungnir" emblazoned across the cannon in its shoulder, it sat at Fifty-five tons of composite armor, advanced targeting systems, and whithering fire power. It was not the heaviest Mech in the Lance, that honorific went to Reaper, the company Ace's Mech.

It was however the most used, being versatile and capable at all ranges and able to fulfill any mission it was required to complete. Gungnir, the BattleMech of MechWarrior Andrew Smith, was nearly ready for war.

"All hatches secure, final start up of Gungnir in process! Andy, you have the deck."

Crew Chief Lieng set his headset down, looking out of the office overlooking the MechBay. Data feeds within the window glass read out specifications and mechanic reports; a full bin of Cannon shells, two salvo's missing from the missile bins each, and a fresh coat of paint on the new leg. She was ready. Lieng just hoped that she'd handle the unknown contacts incoming. If knowledge was power, Andy was going into this with a dead battery.

Andrew's boots caught traction on the hull of Gungnir, and he propelled himself the last ways up. The hatch at the rear of the head was propped open for him, and he carefully spun around and dropped inside. Within, the dusky smell of habitation greeted his nose, of cleaning agents that could barely fight the stink of sweat, and a cockpit awaiting it's master.

He stepped deeper into the compartment, reaching for a cooling jacket that hung off his cot, one of the many accouterments that made this Mech his home. The bed was new, but his grandfather had slept on that cot during the third succession wars. The vest buckled on as his mind returned to the task at hand.

"Andy, what's the hold up?" Called the comms, Captain Gustav checking in like a frustrated parent. Just in time.

"Sorry sir," he yelled out to the front of the Mech as he hustled towards the pilot seat, "just got a little sentimental."

"Good", came the reply as he pulled on his Neurohelmet, "I want my Shadow Hawk back on this Dropship after this mission."

A surge of static filled Andy's ears, and he closed his eyes. Leaning back into the pilot seat, he thought back to riding his bike down the streets of New Avalon, then of the day his mother died, then again to when he met Gillian.

"Welcome back, Warlord," cooed the soft voice of Gungnir, recognizing his mental handshake, "ready for start-up sequence."

With a smile, he flipped three switches to unlock the reactor's control coils, "Reactor, Online. Fusion super-critical, power output 30% and rising," the Mech computer responded. His hand flew down to a large button, the systems power, and the boot up of secondary systems began.

"Sensors, Online," green lights flashed in the corner of Andy's vision as test messages were bounced between relays; radio and

laser-comm to the three other Mechs and the Dropship. The machine tested and checked it's Radar, seismic sensor, and rangefinder. All green. "Weapons, Online," a flash of yellow and blue along his cheek as the weapons test cycled, cleared, test cycled again, and then loaded fresh ammunition into the system. The gantries to Gungnir began to retract, and slowly the BattleMech spun to face the Dropship bay door for its MechBay.

The Dropship began to shudder slightly as it set down, and the lights of the MechBay died down. The impact of landing was quickly followed by the MechBay door dropping and the red light of an open desert washed into the strobing red of warning lights. Mooring clamps broke their seal, and slowly Andy throttled up the Shadow Hawk, strutting from the Dropship onto the red planet's surface.

"This is Call-sign Warlord to Command," Andy called out, "Gungnir is on the board."

"Copy Warlord, operation begins now," responded Captain Gustav over his call-sign Command, "We're picking up interference trying to reach Valkyrie Two, we need you to recover Valkyrie Two, and if you can the Lucifer as well. Don't risk Gungnir to pull it back though, we just need our Pilot back."

"Warlord, Command, copy that. Beginning Operations."

The Shadow Hawk sauntered forwards across the crags and sand, a canyon looming ahead. The fighter Valkyrie Two had gone down during the emergency landing of the Dropship just an hour before, and now they had lost communication. The hard part would be securing the Pilot and the wreckage, whatever hostiles they encountered in orbit seemed to be interested in intercepting the Dropship as well, making the scramble to rescue their own a dangerous mission. With the Dropship touched down for the operation, it was a sitting duck.

The ground began to firm up, and so Warlord pushed the throttle to max. Gungnir began to run, its heavy feet pounding through the cockpit even three stories in the air. A literal god of war, Gungnir was ready to face whatever the enemy might throw at it. Just ahead, about 2km, was the objective, a crag that Valkyrie 2 had crashed into. A plume of smoke confirmed it was near the marker, placed across his vision by the Neurohelmet's visor. With a sharp alarm, it began to mark a plume of dust not that far from the location; whatever was out there would have to be discouraged from persisting.

The hills between the objective and Gungnir melted away, and in a large rut lie Valkyrie 2, a flare putting up red smoke. Across the expanse, about a full Kilometer, three BattleMechs resembling a Phoenix Hawk or Stinger crested the hills protecting the crash site, their jumpjets winding down from use.

"Warlord, Command, I have visual, contacts, confirm engagement," Warlord began, but static answered him. He paused, and tried communicating again, "Warlord, Command, do you copy?"

Nothing.

Switching to laser-comms, he waited for the connection to be made before he attempted anything. His finger brushed the trigger of his LRMs, a locking reticle slowly circling closer and closer to the lead Mech. The readout began to flipflop between "STG-3R" and "CN9-A", blending into something Warlord made out as "STPAR".

"Warlord, Command, Gungnir thinks these are something called a... Stopper, BattleMech. They look to have Axes and Rifles. Advise," he paused, waiting for a relay to pick up the transmission. Then, the LRM locked with a solid red, and Warlord smiled; He had the bastards number if they made a move, though he knew they weren't just standing there letting him get a targeting resolution.

No reply came back after a moment, and Warlord took the gamble; he throttled forwards, stomping forwards at half-speed. If the contacts wanted to dance, he would oblige; otherwise, he had a job to do. He spotted the pilot getting out of the hatch, scrambling down the side, before a hail of ballistics ran along the side of the Lucifer, forcing Valkyrie 2 to hide behind cover.

"Firing on a downed pilot?" asked Warlord with fury, training his gun up and at the three Stoppers, "Alright, then. Let's play that game."

The three enemy 'Mechs fired up their jump jets, but Warlord's trigger was faster, a salvo of missiles from his LRM flashing into the air. They jetted down the side of the ravine, dodging more nimbly than most mechs could manage, but a few missiles impacted their target. Ballistics rained across Gungnir, and the damage feed registered superficial damage.

"How about you have a taste of your own medicine," Warlord snarled, and keyed the medium laser mounted in Gungnir's right hand. A lance of red light glowed for a few seconds, bridging the distance between the Shadow Hawk and the three Stoppers. His target, the middle Mech he had fired the missiles at, crouched low and ramped off a rock, mitigating some of the damage from the laser. Streams of molten steel ran down the Stopper before cooling, leaving hard, jagged, crystal-like spikes in its wake.

'How strange,' thought Warlord, and Gungnir enhanced the image telescopically. It seemed there was an ablative coating to the enemy Mech, similar to the paints used to paint the mercenaries own Mech, but it behaved differently. He'd need this information for Command to digest later, and made a mental note to flag this moment of combat. Gungnir's computer quickly received the command from the Neurohelmet, and the black box recorded a timestamp of the footage.

The left arm of Gungnir flashed on the damage read, more shots aimed at him. He spun to the right, taking the shots across his entire arm instead of allowing it to concentrate in one area, and used the opportunity to return some fire of his own. Optimal range for the LRM still, and a lock was maintained on the middle for now. His Medium Laser discharged at the right-most Stopper, and he spun, the LRM roaring as he faced the middle-most enemy. His throttle pushed up, and he stomped forwards atop the wrecked Lucifer, heat pouring from the heatsink vents in the chest.

The Stoppers continued their advance on their jumpjets, the middle Mech unable to dodge and taking the full salvo across their chest. The right hand Stopper didn't react to the laser in time and took the full burn into their leg. Sparks flew as it stumbled, catching itself and sliding across the ground.

More damage feedback, the left side armor was taking more bangs from the weak Autocannons of the enemy, but it wasn't at threat of failing. He needed to get that enemy off his arm, now, though, or the armor would start buckling and lock up his arm. They were aiming to close for melee, that much was clear, they could tell their guns were bouncing rather than penetrating. This put them right in the cross hairs of the SRM-2.

Firing the LRM one last time before the range became untenable, a full-turn with the feet left brought the head-mounted SRM into line with the left Stopper. A hard 'Fa-Wush' roared twice as two missiles closed the distance quickly, leaving no time for dodging. The impact landed directly across the head, blasting it sideways from the force and tossing the entire Stopper off balance. The LRMs impacted at the same time, and the middle mech slid to its feet, armor flying off and revealing the unprotected endoskeleton of the Mech...

'Flag' thought Warlord, and Gungnir did, as the sight of the Mech lacked the conventional Endoskeleton but was rather akin to a more crude metal exoskeleton. More for the Black box, in case it all went south here. The shots resumed across the right arm and now the chest, but the armor held, enduring the barrage.

The far-right Stopper had braced and was focusing fire, trying to score a wound from range while its allies continued to charge. Things were getting hairy, and it was coming down to the wire. Warlord unlocked the safety on the Autocannon, and it chambered a live round. A salvo of SRMs and a full burn of the Medium Laser, all focused on the left Stopper's legs, ripped the armor off of them and sent it to the ground, rolling to a stop. Stepping backwards, Gungnir spun, and the mighty cannon on its shoulder came into life with the middle Stopper, which raised its hatchet for a downwards strike.

The Lance of the Gods barked 'No', and the lower waist of the Stopper flew from the upper part, the chest and arms flipping twice before skidding to a stop at the feet of the Shadow Hawk. Gungnir began a slow retreat, stepping away from the wreckage. It was up to Valkyrie 2 to stay close and out from underfoot, but he would not give up his mound. For the enemy to chase him off, they'd need to buy it with iron and oil.

The left Stopper darted in, gong for its downed ally to cover it. Its head split open, a large eye-like ball trained on the BattleMech. Seeing an opening, the SRMs hissed out, only one of them missing the target. The head detonated, earning a hiss from Warlord. Despite that, the Mech kept moving; "How in the hell?"

Warlord watched, centering his arms upon this beheaded Mech as it kept maneuvering. Warlord had no idea how, that should have killed the Pilot or forced an eject. Regardless, it was moving, and came to a kneel by the de-legged Stopper, firing ineffectually into the chest of Gungnir. A full burn of the laser and a salvo of SRMs barked from the Shadow Hawk, and it took another step back.

"Damage to rear armor detected."

Warlord spun hard, reversing and bringing the right side to spread the shots from the other stopper across the chest to avoid damage to the components in the other arm. It was up again, and was raising its ax for an attack. The AC/5 was out of line for a shot, and all the Shadow Hawk could do was bring its left arm into the path.

The ax came in hard and fast, and as it cut downwards into the arm, it stopped a foot into the armor. Damage alarms blared, and the arm's myomers were having issues firing at the elbow. The battle paused, the thin ax becoming jammed into the arm as the enemy tried to wrestle with this sudden change. Myomer flexing against the servos of the Stopper, the ax was slowly maneuvered down, opening the Stopper to reprisal. The right fist of Gungnir opened and the powerful hands of the Shadow Hawk gripped down on the left shoulder, crushing steel armor like foil and digging in just as the ax had.

Proximity alarms flared, the last standing contact had moved in for the kill. Twisting and spinning, Gungnir pulled up the Stopper in its iron grip, and swung it bodily at its enemy. The enemy Mech was nearly lifted off the ground, its twenty-ton weight disadvantage coming into play. The two Mechs collided and crumpled backwards unceremoniously.

With both of them in its sight, Warlord fired the Autocannon again, this time the shot hitting the right torso of one of the two, and blasting it clear off.

Badly wounded and deprived of half their arms, the two Stoppers spun, and each grabbed a side of the downed third Mech. Their rockets flared and they began to retreat. Warlord allowed it; he needed the Fighter, and he needed Valkyrie 2. The pilot in question rushed to Gungnir's foot now that it wasn't moving, and climbed aboard. A rocky ride, but a safe one.

Reaching down, Gungnir began to drag the heavy fighter back. It was ten tons heavier than the Mech, but the solid grip of the Shadow Hawk and the high-powered engine allowed the Myomers to strain successfully. Some of the salvage would go uncollected, left for these strange vultures to pick over, but the majority of the fighter would be coming home. The reverse march to the DropShip was slow, and before long the radio chirped as Command reestablished contact.

"Command, Warlord, do you copy over?"

"Warlord, I copy. The enemy jammed radio communications," he reported, "LaserComm came through though. I think if we can keep the DropShip in line, we can still communicate."

"Understood. Your objective?"

"Both secure, sir," Warlord reported, "I've taken damage and spent some more rockets, and two AC/5 shells."

"Copy, get onboard. We have no contact from the JumpShip and are waiting for a report on the battle after we left. If we've driven off the enemy in space, there's no guarantee they took too much damage to squawk. We need to consolidate and plan. Once you're onboard, we'll be getting Valkyrie 2 to the med-bay, then I want to debrief you."

"Yes-sir," Warlord responded, closing his eyes; this was bad. Real bad. "Warlord, out."

[+END TRANSMISSION+]

 **MechProfile** : Shadow Hawk SHD-2H

 **Class** : Medium

 **Armaments** : Shoulder-mount Autocannon 5 in the left shoulder, two Short ranged missile tubes mounted on the head, Five Long ranged Missile tubes in the right torso, Medium laser in the right wrist.

The Shadowhawk is a versatile, all-rounder Mech capable of handling most situations it is thrust into. While not purpose-built for a role, it's adaptable armament lends it a tactical flexibility to answer any issue throw at it with ease. While some MechWarriors consider it "Easy on the damage", it is not designed for a quick one-two punch to end a fight but rather the long-haul slugfest. In this, it excels, capable of brawling and doling out hurt equally as well. The LRM in its right chest is easily fed by the missile ammo directly behind the launcher, giving it a quick reload. The SRM in the head isn't as easy of a reload, requiring a little more time per-tube to reload than the LRM, but given it is only two tubes, it ultimately isn't an issue. Its left arm serves as a useful "Shield" or "Deadside" to be twisted into the way of incoming damage and attacks, similar to the Centurion BattleMech's left-arm Shield. Its right arm is marginally more useful thanks to the Medium laser, giving it a mid-range means to fight without using ammunition. Its trump card, the AC/5 in its left side, make it frighteningly deadly at all its optimal combat ranges, from 700 meters to 80. Inside of that range, it has issues bringing the large weapon into line, and must rely on its head-mounted missiles and arm laser to fight off aggressors.

Authors' Note:  
More to come! I've a wonky work schedule, but I aim to try and get a chapter out every other week. If you enjoyed this, please leave me some words of encouragement. If you didn't, feel free to tell me what you'd prefer more of! As always, thank you for reading and I hope you've enjoyed it. More WILL come! Work is too boring and this is too fun writing big robot fights.


	3. Chapter 3: The Battle of Mad Vallis

WARNING: LONG CHAPTER AHEAD

 **THE BATTLE OF MAD VALLIS**

[+BEGINNING TRANSMISSION+]

Mars, Home base 11, Gjallerhorn planetary circuit

This was bad. Real bad.

Commander Kita looked over the table in the middle of the conference room. Commander Dantes was across from her, having come down from the wounded Todos-class Assault Carrier _Skybridge_ for this meeting. To her left, sat Ace Pilot Armon and Captain Shroud, her left and right hands. To her right, Doctor Gideon Balthazar, a scientist from the Gjallerhorn R&D base on Phobos, and Richter vonHiemont, the Foreman of the Orbital factory that supplied Home base 11 with its arms and ammunition.

"Gentlemen," began Kita, looking over them all, "we have a situation."

The room went dark, and a projector flipped on, the screen behind her projecting the Black box feeds from the Graze that engaged in the orbital fight alongside the After-action reconstruction of the land skirmish. Below the two videos, a slideshow of damage reports for the Mobile Suits read out the technicians understanding of the effects the alien weapons had on the machines Gjallerhorn had sent to intercept.

"At 2110 hours we detected an object approaching at sub-light speeds from the dark side of Mars," she explained, "At 1200, The _Skybridge_ was dispatched from Deimos to intercept the contact, given it appeared to be a large carrier-styled Solar ship. At 1845, we confirmed it matched no known silhouette of a Stellar transport in our database, and attempted to hail it once it reached effective communications range. After it gave no reply, we deployed Mobile Suits to intercept."

She motioned towards one of the video feeds, old news to her and Commander Dantes, but important for the other four. It was currently showing the moment the massive Gunship plowed into the Mobile Suit formation. 120mm shells banged off the hull and deflected, a few hitting exposed sections and causing some damage. That was far from the rule, however.

"The enemy engaged first with conventional missiles, the same kind our own atmospheric fighters and missile artillery, before falling back on..." she pointed, turning as she did, "... Beams, of some form. The damage was calculated to be at least equitable to our own Graze-rifle, but with a faster cycle rate and no travel time."

A few comments between the five assembled, before Commander Dantes brought some useful information to everyone's attention, "After taking several casualties, I withdrew the Mobile Suits to conserve our forces. We lost two Pilots, Mail and Jorge, and three Mobile Suits total have been destroyed. My technicians project that one of the Graze will need to be scuttled, but should be used to repair the others without need for additional materials."

He nodded to Kita, and she returned to the screen, "The _Skybridge_ survived the encounter, however it has been seriously wounded and repair teams will take at least a month to repair it. The UFOs used its disabled status to regroup and withdraw to their own ship, which detached a smaller shuttle. This UFO made its way to the Martian surface after one of the kills our Mobile Suits landed.

"I dispatched a team of three Pilots to secure the wreck while we got Mobile Workers into position. When they arrived, they discovered, this;" she motioned as the screen shifted to accommodate the entire replay of the land battle. Stalking up without any signatures or signs of its presence, a massive Mobile Suit stomped up the ridge, putting the objective between it and the Graze's. It menaced of power and inhuman hate, like some titan from another age unchained from its chthonic prison.

"Our current analysis of the battle data puts this UMA at around sixty tons, based on its movement, and has to have more armor than a Mobile Suit is capable of mounting," Commander Kita said grimly. There was a brief moment of concern, before one previously-silent man raised a hand, curiosity etched on his face.

[+INCOMING TRANSMISSION+]

Scratch looked up from his plate. That damn woman was looking directly at him. He'd already met her eye, now he had to find out what she wanted.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" The Clanner asked somewhat reserved, not betraying his annoyance at having his meal in natural gravity disrupted.

"Debrief from Warlord just wrapped up. We got another mission, you interested?"

Scratch smiled slightly, and picked at his food, "Which 'Mech am I assigned today?"

Lieutenant Ra sat down across from him, and he helped himself to a few more bites of preservatives-seasoned-with-food. He didn't bother offering her any, she could challenge him for what he had if she wanted it that damn badly.

"Recon calls for Raptor, we're warming her up now. We've got a briefing here," she flapped a small stack of papers, "but you want the quick and dirty, don't you?"

"Aff," he said without pause, and took another bite. It tasted like salt and sadness.

"Right, so," she leaned back, hooking a foot around the table leg as she did so, "OpFor are aggressive, using 35-40 ton Mechs in pristine condition, all using rifle cannons and Hatchets."

Scratch nodded slowly; sounded interesting, and primitive, "I assume they have missiles?"

"None documented," Ra surprised him with that, usually missiles were the cheap option for effective weapons, "But keep those eyes peeled, we might just be scratching the surface."

"Aff," he nodded, sliding his clean plate to the side, "and the objective?"

"We've picked up a distress call," Alianna said, "We need it looked at. This could be our in on this world."

[+INCOMING TRANSMISSION+]

"UMA?" Captain Shroud asked, confused, "New acronym?" 

"Unidentified Mobile Armor," was her response; the room became heavy, as if a blanket made of millions of graves had been draped over them all. Such a designation was not entirely inappropriate, as behind Kita the assembled specialists could watch as it unleashed a methodical, calculated barrage of weapons fire. Ace Armon made to speak, but the words left his mouth as he watched the UMA pick up a graze like a sack of concrete and hurl it. It then fired its shoulder cannon, and blew parts of the Graze-pile in every direction. It was a miracle any of them survived such a certain shot, and a blessing they were allowed to retreat. He voiced as much as the feed finished recounting the battle from the Graze squad leaders' perspective. 

"Based on my initial research into the damage sustained," began Gideon, sensing a segue into something he could comment on, "I believe the enemy missiles to be, in themselves, armor-defeating for a different kind of armor than what we have equipped on our Graze. This means," he motioned, and Kita switched to the autopsy of the Graze damage reports, "They are less effective. We use two part defenses, thicker alloy plates over composite exoskeleton with a titanium frame. The missiles appear to attempt to penetrate a thinner layer first, and when they fail to, detonate at full force. Most of the missile damage to our Mobile Suits was to the armor itself, rather than to the Exoskeleton or frame.

"Additionally, the missiles which did real damage seem to be seriously limited in range, which leads me to believe that they are such a heavy payload that they must be fired is near-melee ranges. The largest threats to our Mobile Suits; including I suspect those given Nanolaminate, would be the Beams and Ballistics used by the enemy. Damage reports from both the space battle and the land battle report concentrated beams being used to melt armor. Despite the challenges surrounding laser technology, their beams are able to bring metal to a sustained boiling point for a prolonged duration. As we have seen from the examination footage, rather than a Hyper-agitated particle beam that shreds it's target, the alien weapons super-heat the material."

"Thank you, Doctor," Kita responded as Gideon finished speaking, which he responded to with a nod. She turned to the assembled members of Gjallerhorn; "We don't have sufficient resources right now to fight an army, but if we can isolate and destroy this thing, we can use that as a morale boost. If we can score a win, the dissidents in the Martian population will leap to our side for safety. After that fiasco yesterday at the mercenary base, we need a win gentlemen."

[+INCOMING TRANSMISSION+]  
"Alright Raptor, you're on the board," cracked Scratches mic, his Crab's name serving as his call sign, "Proceed out of the crater bearing... West-Northwest."

"Raptor copies," Scratch called, and throttled up. The Forwards Unto Glory had set down in a secluded position roughly forty Kilometers from where it had originally touched down on the planet to effect some repairs of its escort fighters. Both Praetorian, a Centurion Mech, and Templar, a Crusader Mech, were on the rim of the crater on either side of the DropShip while the AeroSpace crews repaired the fighters in the open air.

"Your objective is a canyon twelve Kilometers from here, should take you half an hour at full pace," Command said, and a marker on his HUD pinpointed the location on his topographic map. "Command out."

Without another word, Scratch began the long journey. Soon as he crested the crater, he pushed the throttle to the max and leaned into a sprint. The Crab peaked out at just over one-hundred-twelve Kilometer per hour, slowing to Ninety-seven when terrain wasn't as smooth. The journey would be a boring one.

[+INCOMING TRANSMISSION+]

"With the _Skybridge_ being repaired," Dantes offered, seizing the initiative of the conversation, "I could ground my Graze until it's serviceable again. That would reinforce our defense efforts, and give us better tactical flexibility."

"We have been authorized by high command to divert any task forces necessary to an emergent issue," added in Commander Kita, "Though so-far we've no contacts to act on. We have a number of teams out in the field with standing orders to

"That may be necessary, Sir," Captain Shroud said, tapping on his PDA, I just received a priority message, Commanders. It would seem our task-force in Mad Vallis picked up a contact."

Kita picked up her own PDA; there it was, a message sent to all upper ranking commanders on the surface. She opened the message, and watched the attached feed for a moment before sending it to the main screen and spinning in her seat to watch.

[+INCOMING TRANSMISSION+]

Scratch throttled back his Crab, looking around through his Neurohelmet's HUD at the information being fed to him. The signal was weak, but it was indeed a distress signal coming from this canyon. Scratch flicked on his advanced scanners, and immediately picked up twelve seismic signals from within, as well as the heat profile of a compound of some design.

The Canyon was tight, only six hundred meters on either side, so his Crab could safely walk down the middle without scratching its long nose, though maneuvering would be limited. He walked forwards at half his max speed, eyes peeled. There were contacts nearby, but they came up small, almost on the level of-

"Vehicles detected," chimed his BattleMech's computer. Scratch smiled, a milk run to rescue one unknown from another unknown, perfect for the stranded mercenary team. He continued to pilot his way around the Canyon, picking up radio chatter that was unencoded. It sounded like the defenders were losing rather handily, something a healthy dose of BattleMech would turn around proper.

Stomping around a bend in the canyon, Scratch came into view of twelve small tanks, each with a single gun. Light recon tanks, he figured. That would he easy enough. With a grin, the Clanner brought all of his lasers online. He ran through the timing needed, and with a smile realized he could take out half this force with a single volley.

Time slowed from his perspective as his superior reflexes kicked in. His right arm fired its heavy laser, killing a tank within moments. It's ammo detonated immediately afterwards, though by the time it did, Scratch had already fired both chest lasers, the two beams desynchronized to allow him to nail two separate tanks with the attacks.

In this time, his foot had picked up off the ground and set down, taking a single stride, and he still wasn't done.

The left hand laser fired, this one scoring a cut-like strike on the enemy tank, dragging upwards into a second directly besides the other. Both would be counted as kills, though the unfocused attack didn't core the vehicles, it "merely destroyed" them. As the other foot rose to take a second step, the laser mounted besides the cockpit activated, the last lance spearing a final tank mid-center. It slammed to a half as its engine was turned to molten slag.

Scratch put his other foot down. Walking at only Forty-six Kilometers per hour, it took him two steps, less than two seconds, to lock in every target, and drag each beam to its victim.

His heat alarm flared, warning him his heat sinks were at sixty-percent capacity and that he had pushed his Mech as hard as it could go. He smiled, he did so miss this feeling, of putting Innersphere Rats in their place.

"Flee now, Freebirth Scum, for you face a Warrior of the Clans!" He roared in triumph, watching as the light tanks began to scatter for cover.

"Distress beacon detected," his computer reported; he'd missed the commander, and they were calling for backup.

"More to fall before the might of the Rangers!" Scratch called eagerly, and brought himself to a stop in the small creek that ran through the canyon. Ahead, the defenders from the unknown tanks were scrambling for cover. After witnessing Scratch at work, surely they expected the same.

Their bunker entrance had a functional turret cannon that seemed fitting for stationary artillery, though its twin opposite the blast door seemed ruined. The door in question was cycling down, closing so as to strand the few survivors outside and protect the rest from Scratch.

"This is Call sign Raptor," Scratch said over an open frequency, "I picked up your distress signal and came to assist. Do you copy?"

There was a long moment of silence, with Scratch pointing his Large Lasers at the emplaced cannon. If that thing fired, he would be in a bad way, it looked huge, even from two-hundred meters away.

"You're friendly?" Came a shaky reply, earning a chuckle from Scratch. Oh, he did love it when the Surat learned their places.

"I'm with Roric's Rangers. We're mercenaries, and we thought you could use a hand."

[+INCOMING TRANSMISSION+]

"That… shouldn't even be possible…" slowly commented Doctor Gideon, "That much torque to move that fast should be burning out the servos. How it's moving that fast without using boosters is a miracle," he scoffed, already imagining how such engineering advancements might revolutionize Gjallerhorn's Mobile Suit design. "It's targeting is too fast for a human to pull off, and its weapons seem to lack any ammo feeds. There was no recoil, and no loss of accuracy..."

"That is a scout," announced Shroud, nodding, "It has a number of clear sensor dishes on its rear armor, and that 'nose' of its," he motioned at its front as it continued to sprint, "must be the engine. That much power has to be to answer for its mobility and ability to twist and aim that readily."

"We have no aerospace contacts… Commander Kita," called Commander Dantes with a smirk and a look in his eye, "We may have a chance for that win we want."

"Yes!" Doctor Gideon exclaimed, "If we can ambush it and gain some salvage, even partial, we could begin to develop weapons and technology to better fight our enemy."

VonHiemont piped up next that "Our factories are set to start producing whatever R&D can design. We just need something more concrete than 'better' to work with."

Kita looked to Armon, "I'm sending you and any assets you believe your need. How many can you take this thing out with?"

Armon leaned back. He was deep in thought; while no tactical or strategic genius, he know a Graze better than anyone else on Mars, and he knew what their limits were. "I need four squadrons," he answered finally, "This thing is a scout yes? We have it cornered in Mad Vallis, it has to be lighter armored and better designed for mobility, and it's got nowhere to use that mobility" he nodded confidently, "With myself and twelve others, we can pen it in and destroy it."

"We still don't know the full capabilities of the enemy," interjected Captain Shroud, "and without bigger weapons, we still have a chance the enemy armor is too heavy for us to penetrate. I recommend bringing a few rocket launchers, Armon."

"Agreed," Kita said with finality, "at least one squadron with extra firepower. In the meantime, I'm diverting all nearby Mobile Suit teams to the target. We should be able to soften and slow it."

The meeting seemed to end itself at that point; a vague variety of differing excuses and reasons to not be present arose, though Commander Dantes pointed out that with the _Skybridge_ restored, secure video conferences would be possible. Kita agreed to that, so as to keep the scientist and manufacturing engineer in their respective elements. Armon left first, with Dantes being the last.

"This new enemy," he said as they parted way, "I don't think they're here by choice."

"What makes you think that?" Kita said with some confusion. Why not bring this up in the meeting they just had?

"It's a feeling," he said, shaking his head, "like that moment when you know there's something in front of your foot without looking."

He left without saying anything else, leaving Kita alone in the conference room. She leaned forwards, letting her chin rest on her fists. The hardest part was knowing that, until the next development, she was useless. Her role in all of this had nothing to do with battlefield tactics, or innovation. She was a logistics woman. She made her rank because she knew how to get supplies where they were needed most. She sat alone, thinking. What more could she do?

[+INCOMING TRANSMISSION+]

"Mercenary, we have detected Mobile Suits on their way to our position," cracked the Radio a few moments after Scratch introduced himself, "we have three inbound on the RADAR. We're in the middle of evacuations and we can't handle that kind of firepower."

"That's why you want to offer to hire the Rangers," replied Scratch smoothly, and waited. While Scratch waited for the the potential contacts to make their decision, he opened a channel back to Command, "Raptor to Command. Enemy force neutralized and driven away. I've made contact with the elements broadcasting the distress beacon and offered services, however I have inbound hostiles."

"Roger that, Raptor," replied Command "Do you need reinforcement, or is the mission scrapped?"

Scratch flexed his fingers, and thought over the situation for a moment. Another wave, this time of something that would actually put up a fight?

"Negative Command. I have the situation under control," he began to smile; time for a real show of Clan Skill. "Scratch out. I'll negotiate us a good salvage ratio."

"Don't you dare!" screamed a distant voice from behind Command, "Uh, understood Scratch, leave that to me please... Command out."

Scratch maneuvered forwards and sunk his legs into the water, letting the heat sinks in the legs cool off a little easier. He stopped moving and watched his sensor feed, waiting for the seismic pings of approaching Mechs.

"Mercenary, this is Carlos Geddin," came an older voice, "I am the leader of the Martian Freedom League. If you can protect this facility until we've escaped underground, we will gladly pay you in whatever form you want."

That was what Scratch liked to hear, "Well bargained and done," he replied in customary Clan style, however anything else was interrupted by sudden shots ringing off his center torso. His seismic sensor hadn't picked up the contacts, and as he looked around, he saw why;

Three Mechs, the same Stopper configurations from the previous skirmish. They touched down from Jump Jetting in cover behind a bend of the canyon and were firing from its protection. One of them was even scaling the rock face of the ravine walls with aid from the Jump Jets, looking to get an elevation advantage on the Mercenary. Scratch twisted into the attacks, spinning his legs to the left, before pushing into an unassisted jump of his own and twisting back around suddenly.

The Stoppers pulled back into cover, though the one behind the lead Mech was too slow and too exposed, giving Scratch a chance to score a hit. His left Large Laser thrummed to life and scored a hit along the leg of the partially covered Mech, sending it to the ground, its Cannon Rifle flying to the right side of the canyon.

Shots rang down upon Scratch's roof, and he realized with amusement that the Stopper was going to leap behind and try to attack the rear of his Crab. He opted to lead the enemy into that, and advanced on the last grounded enemy still in cover and combat capable. He strode with a lumber, not bothering with rushing as he intended to earlier, and waited.

When the Mech in cover began to fire, Scratch took his chance. He flipped the arms of Raptor behind itself, bringing them up and over its head to fire into its rear arc, and blindly fired both. His heat management computer began to scream its alarm at the potential shut down, yet he avoided the calamity of a mid-battle overheat. An explosion rang from behind him, and he smiled. One more to go.

"Mercenary, this is MFL Control, we got another distress beacon going out! That last Mobile Suit was the squadron leader!"

Scratch groaned; "Really?" he said to himself, annoyed that it had happened a _second_ time.

[+INCOMING TRANSMISSION+]

Ace Pilot Armon slid into the cockpit of his Graze. Customized with a variety of sensors and a machine gun array on his melee wrist, it was better suited for hitting out of position targets, something he used to great effect during pirate raids and duels of honor. His weapon of choice, a rapier, also fit the image and attitude of a duelist. He liked the thrusting power behind a lunge, capable of taking a Mobile Suit down with one well-timed attack.

His Mobile Suit came online with a slow thrumming, and he smiled as the diagnostics ran through and came out green. Technicians on the gantries above him decoupled his refueling lines, and his radio chirped the affirmative to move from the Mobile Suit bay. As he stepped out into the sun-baked tarmac of the field base, he saw the other four squadrons of three Pilots each moving to group up with him. On in particular, which was last to join the group, held 300mm rocket cannons. Suited for space combat and anti-structure missions, Armon felt they would be overkill against this scout. Still, never hurt to bring a little more punch than you thought you needed.

"All squadrons, on my six. We surround the target and take him down," he ordered as his boosters fired. The twelve Graze followed suit, as they all rapidly moved across the martian landscape. "We do this fast, we do this as a unit. No heroes here but me, understood?"

A disappointed stream of affirmatives responded to his orders. He was concerned some glory hounds would disregard his directive, but they would probably make a capable distraction. Cold, but if they thought they could take this thing on all by their own, they were welcome to try so long as they didn't get anyone else killed. Armon, meanwhile, was going to try and use the crossfire from a proper flank on the high ground to lock down the enemy so he could debilitate it. If it was hamstrung, it was dead. That was the rule of Mobile Suits, that was the rule of war.

A sudden alert appeared on his screen. A second distress call, this one answered by another nearby team. A squad of three Graze on a routine patrol were racing over the open red barrens towards Mad Vallis to get their comrades out of danger. Time was of the essence.

"All units, full speed. I don't care if we run out of fuel after the fight, we need to be there yesterday," he ordered, and as one the Hunter-Killer team rocketed off from the open parade grounds of the Gjallerhorn base. They couldn't wait, lives were now on the line. Lives that, if they were quick enough, could be saved.

The trip was agony, all ten minutes of it. Armon was an ace, not a politician. He had to listen over the radio as good men, proud knights of Gjallerhorn, tried to score a wound on their enemy. Attacking from above, they avoided the worst of the retaliation, but despite that almost-certain advantage, he heard one report of a casualty.

A lucky strike, or maybe a stupid move on the squad mates part, but the ground gave way and the two wing men to the Sergeant fell from their perch. They, from the report, didn't hit the ground before their machines were ruined. This bastard was going to deserve everything he got; attacking mobile workers, and then humiliating six of Gjallerhorn's own? His rage consumed him, and he keyed his radio on an open frequency.

"This is Ace Pilot Armon, of Gjallerhorn. You are outmatched, and outnumbered. Power down and surrender, or we will humiliate and destroy you," he said, before thinking to himself, "as opposed to just destroying you."

He smiled deviously as he saw a couple Graze fist-pump at his taunt; that should be a morale boost for the squadrons to hear their leader talking so bravely. Armon was shocked, however, when in accented Japanese an unidentified radio signal replied, "You face Patrikov of the Roric's Rangers," the voice was even more haughty than his own had been, boastful even, "I am your superior in every respect. You are not allowed take your life when _I_ have disgraced _you_."

Mad Vallis lie just ahead. Alpha and Charlie boosted to an elevated position, while Bravo and Delta followed behind. The Valley was fairly spacious, almost six-hundred meters across. Enough room for some maneuvers, but still limited. This might give the Graze, with their supposed superior mobility, the upper hand. They stopped boosting, and set down. Anymore fuel spent would be needed more in the fight ahead, they could afford to walk. It didn't take more than a minute before the scorch marks from the alien weapons potted the walls with damage. Worse still, the broken fragments of Graze, and just ahead, some ruined mobile workers. Still, no contact.

"Is it even still here?" asked one of Bravo, as he opened his sensors and began a more active scan within the battlefield, "I'm picking up some residual AHAB signatures from within that structure in the canyon face, but other than-" his words were cut off as a single yellow beam, hit the sensor head and destroyed it. There, striding from around the corner, came the UMA.

Beams of blue light flashed out as the clubs- no, claws, on its' hands snapped open. The lances of light punched into the graze just behind Armon, narrowly missing him. Even at this range, the alien beams were deadly, and the Mobile Suit crashed to the ground. Its pilot flagged their survival a few seconds later, the shots having penetrated the Ahab reactor while missing the cockpit.

"Evasive action! Stay mobile don't stop moving," ordered Armon, and he fired with his rifle as he juked aside. The Graze scattered likewise, most going left or right. The last two from Bravo, however, continued their charge. The fools raised their rifles, firing as they got within 600 meters, but the UMA directed a claw at each, and this close, the weapons seemed to do more damage, melting neat, deadly holes into their center torsos. Their bio-metrics flat lined, and using that opening the enemy machine dove forwards and sprinted towards the Armon and his remaining Squadrons. It wasn't even the first minute, and a squadron had been annihilated.

Armon gave his orders fluidly, "Alpha, Charlie, suppressing fire! Delta, pull back to effective range and aim for its hips. I'll try and distract it!"

Armon ducked his Graze low, a yellow lance hitting his shoulder and slagging the armor over his exoskeleton. The shot only connected for a portion of its "burntime" due to his juke, and he quickly capitalized by charging with a lunge. His rapier aimed for the shoulder of the UMA, it responded by crouching and swinging its claw up, parrying the blow. It drove its other claw into his chest like a gut-punch, sending a cacophonous bass clang through his cockpit as it did so. Armon fell backwards, and skid to a half.

Alpha and Charlie squadron began concentrating their weapons fire on the UMA from either side of the Canyon to buy Armon a chance to recover, though the UMA seemed to spin its legs and torso in opposite directions to keeping the shots on one of its sides. Without warning, it rapidly shifted and snapping its torso around. Cannon shells glanced off its armor from the sudden movement, and its deadly claw-lasers were now in-line for an attack. Armon boosted up and forwards hard from his prone position, driving his shoulder into the side of the UMA and the unexpected impact turned what would have been a fatality on two of alpha squadron into a single destroyed Graze with a surviving pilot.

"Oh no you don't; I'm still here you bastard!" called Armon, gritting his teeth. As he attempted to right himself for an attack, he watched as the foot of the UMA raised up and kicked backwards. Striking the head of his Graze and shattering the armor and sensors therein, Armon swore. He fired his boosters, using the momentum to lift him back to his feet, and got back on the offensive despite the loss of his advanced sensors. Another of Alpha took a full burn of the yellow lasers in its central body, and the pilot briefly screamed before the radio winked out. The poor fool thought he could manage to distract the UMA, and paid with his life. The last of alpha was retreating, boosting away with his wounded ally in tow. The sacrifice of the pilot was not wasted, then; Armon braced himself mentally. This could be his final fight, after all.

He hated when Shroud was right.

"Rocket Cannons firing!" called out the leader of Delta. The distraction of Alpha had paid off, as Delta's rocket cannons scored three hits across the right side of the UMA. There was a horrid explosion, and as Armon looked up, he smiled: Damage, visible damage. These things could be killed! The armor was pitted and torn along the arm and nose, though evidently this wasn't enough to stop the machine from whirling around.

Armon boosted into the way of the enemy and Delta, swinging hard to send the death machine off its aim. As he did so, Bravo spread themselves out, aiming to make it harder to get focused all at once by the UMA. The UMA brought its nose around, physically striking Armon's Graze in the right shoulder and creating space to fire its left claw beam behind him. He had to watch as another Graze, this time of the heavy weapons Delta, was destroyed. The damage was more severe this close to the UMA and the hit, to the right torso of the Mobile Suit, dropped it immediately.

"Aim for it's wounded shoulder!" ordered Armon to his dwindling team, "The armor is failing, keep your fire focused!"

Alpha began to angle themselves to keep their attacks from as many directions as possible while Delta reloaded. The UMA took the melee strike to Armon's Graze to dash past him, hurtling into the two remaining mobile suits. Its nose-mounted yellow beams flashed, and the rocket cannon exploded in the grip of one of the two Graze left standing, destroying its arms. It stumbled and fell from the force, landing with a cloud of dust.

The last of Delta brought its ax from its back and swung in a wide arch as it boosted in a wide angle dodge, aiming to drive its attack at the shoulder of the UMA. The ax bit into the metal but became jammed inside just as the previous melee strike against the earlier UMA had. This time however, while the Graze pilot had the advantage, he boosted and used the ax as a lever to unbalance the enemy.

The UMA swung around with the force of the boost, falling over with the momentum. The Delta Graze began to rise, drawing a line on the chest with its reloaded Rocket Cannon, and for a moment Armon held hope that this one, brave soul had won the day with their heroism. Such hopes were dashed as the UMA swung its claw like a hammer, knocking the last if Delta into the line of fire of the nose beams. The legs were sheered off, and the rocket went wide.

As Armon and what few were left gathered together, ready for one last charge, the UMA rose to its full height again.

"Sir, how do we take this thing out? We're pissing it off, not killing it," Armon considered the words of his squadron grimacing.

"We strike it hard. I'll boost over it, you all spread out. Try to keep focusing that wounded shoulder, that ax made its armor even weaker," Armon jetted forwards, his machine guns firing. Behind him, the last of the assault team in Bravo let loose with everything they had.

The UMA stumbled backwards, but spread its arms wide. A claw beam each wounded two of Charlie, while the nose lasers fired at Armon. He boosted upwards, yet somehow the UMA predicted his move and aimed up. Armon jumped directly into the attack, his arms flying from his Graze. Only one of Charlie remained, and it emptied its gun completely before the UMA could bring its weapons to bear. With bravery befitting a Gjallerhorn warrior, it drew its ax and charged, despite the odds.

The UMA refrained from firing, and stepped under the swing of the ax as the Graze got into reach. Two quick jabs with its claws, before a powerful haymaker shattered the weapons arm of the defending Mobile Suit. The Graze stumbled backwards, and the UMA sprinted forwards, crashing headlong into the Graze. As the Graze tumbled to the ground, the UMA planted a foot upon the mobile suit, and slowly spun on its waist, surveying the battlefield within Mad Vallis.

"There is honor in this defeat," crackled Armon's radio; his enemy, taunting them all, "You fought despite facing a superior enemy, and your actions today have earned you your lives. Crawl away, and face me again another day."

The UMA turned without another word, and began to leave, headed the same way it had come. Armon relaxed his head against his command chair, amazed he had survived. This was the most embarrassing defeat he had ever suffered; twelve to one, and he lost. A fire was lit in his soul now. He would defeat this enemy, somehow. We would use everything he had seen this opponent use, and beat them.

It was the only option he, and Gjallerhorn, had. He needed to be better.

[+END TRANSMISSION+]

 **MechProfile** : Graze EB-06

 **Class** : Light

 **Armaments** : Hatchet, Light Rifle, Can be equipped with a Heavy Rifle or a Shield at the cost of mobility.

Designed off the philosophy of the "Valkyrie" style Mobile Suits, the Graze is a powerful, utilitarian, and cost-effective machine of war. While it greatly sacrifices for mobility at the cost of protection, most Graze pilots are trained to use said mobility as their shield. When such tactics are infeasible, however, heavier arms and armors may be loaned out. The thick metal shields sized and proportioned for the Graze provide them capable defensive measures against superior firepower, and can be discarded to return to an unencumbered state. The true lynchpin of the Graze design is its versatility, able to function both in space and on land, a feat no other BattleMech is entirely capable of reproducing as effectively as the Graze. However, like the demonstrably less effective LAM's of the Inner Sphere, it does suffer when put against an enemy it does not have a weight advantage on.

Due to its anti-tank weapon being of an inferior design to the common AutoCannon, its ballistics fall short against other BattleMechs with combat-rated armor. Later iterations would upgrade the Graze to a medium Mech, increasing its armor, durability, endurance, and firepower. The final saving grace of the Graze is its single AHAB reactor, taxed to its maximum output but not overworked. This saves weight for exoskeletal reinforcement and a complex and advanced sensors array located in its head.

Of final note, the use of an Exoskeleton does lend the Graze more internal structure integrity than its Inner Sphere counterparts, yet the lack of the use of Myomer muscles and the reliance on servos make it incapable of the power a more conventional BattleMech can achieve. This, ultimately, limits the upwards abilities of the Graze design philosophy, and condemn it to medium-at-best weight class.


	4. Chapter 4

(AUTHORS NOTE: NOT DEAD! After some rough few months, life is finally starting to calm down and become consistent enough to resume writing. Onwards, my friends! Let us continue the story! I would like to thank everyone who favorited and flagged for notifications, you've helped keep my spirits up and drive me to resume writing soon as I could. Thank you all! I also wish to thank everyone who has left a comment, especially those voicing concerns. I hope that the chapters to come will help address some of the questions you may have.)

[+BEGINNING TRANSMISSION+]

Raptor looked rough.

Chief Lieng grimaced as he looked over the damage. The lower actuator on the right side had fried out, and some joints in the legs on both sides were jammed. His repair crew were having some issues pulling the armor plates off for repairs, but otherwise it would be a fairly smooth refit.

That didn't mean it would be easy though. With resources tight and the native populace seemingly hostile to any foreigners they encountered, this made supply acquisition more tedious than normal. He was going to have to put Raptor back into service with some of its pockmarked armor, for lack of ability to replace the plates reliably. Thank Blake they didn't hit the laser itself though; replacing one of those out here would be tougher than the armor issue.

The MechBay door slid open, Scratch closing it behind himself casually. "That's Eighteen on One, all lights," he said with swagger, "Couldn't have been but fifteen tons lighter."

"I'd say I'm impressed but I can tell you're fishing for it," Lieng shot back with a smile, "Good to see you back."

They shook gladly, and both watched out the window at the MechBay. Against the rear wall, wreathed in shadows, lurked the King Crab, watching out over the other four BattleMechs like some wise predator waiting for worthy prey. Before it, ant-like maintenance workers moved materials about the DropShip's interior, busy with their own chores.

"Gungnir is almost finished," Lieng mentioned off-hand, "We welded back some of the damage it took, extends the life of the armor."

Templar's dock began to strobe as the bay doors opened outside. Sunlight eked into the workspace of the technicians before the imposing shadow of the Crusader BattleMech strode in. Docking clamps reached outwards, grabbing its legs and waist as it stopped moving, and it powered down in its mooring.

A basket lift rose up from near the gantry, and stopped near the cockpit hatch. As it popped, Lishu "Covergirl" practically bounced out, slinging her legs out and over. Lieng whistled aloud, "Let her crush my head."

"What?" Scratch turned to face him, confusion on his face, "What?" Lieng shot back, playing as best he could the innocent. Scratch stared for a long moment, shook his head, and turned back to watching the MechBay. It was better than sitting in the rec room watching the Marines doing whatever grunt-things they did.

"Hey guys!" Lishu called out before she even opened the door. Lieng turned to greet her back while Scratch tossed a non-committal wave, "Hey, Chief, I think there's a short in the ankle, I was having this weird lurch. Would you check on it for me?"

"Sure, I'll get on it right away," he replied with a smile. Before he could try to say anything else, she smiled, gave a cheery "Thank you," and bounced off for the crew quarters, probably to watch the Marines do whatever grunt-things they were doing.

"She'd chew you up and spit you out," Scratch said off hand, then turned and made for the ladders.

"What..." Lieng's face contorted in very many emotions, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Scratch did not elucidate, but instead slid down the ladder; he had Marines to watch do Grunt-things. In this instance, it turned out to be "Two Q-ball Pool", whatever that was. Boredom was one hell of a mother of dubious inventions.

[+INCOMING TRANSMISSION+]

Roric sat down in his computer chair and powered on his personal computer screen. It flashed on, the color slowly gaining brightness, and he moved his cursor over to a blinking phone icon.

A window popped open, and a weathered man in his late 40s stood, back to a sandstone wall.

"I understand you are Carlos Geddin?" Roric asked, "My name is Roric Gustav. I am the leader of this mercenary company."

Carlos Geddin was a hard man; his nose was large and his skin leathery, a heavy brow with short hair, scars and tattoos across his face, and an eyepatch of all things over his left eye. He looked for all the world like a bandit that had been coughed out of one of the hardest prisons in the Inner Sphere, and when he spoke it carried the gravely timbre of a man with little patience for idiots.

"A pleasure. Your timely assistance has saved many of my freedom fighters their lives. We may have lost our central base, but we've been through worse. We owe you."

"A distress signal should be answered," Roric said matter-of-factly, "I'm just glad you're friendly enough to speak to us instead of shoot first."

"Gjallerhorn don't take kindly to differing opinions," he said with some mild amusement, "I've got to say, watching your pilot work his mobile suit was a thing of wonder. Pass my thanks along to him."

"MechWarrior," Gustav interjected, earning a raised eyebrow, "The term? We are MechWarriors. We take pride in what we are, calling us pilots would be like calling you a child."

Geddin nodded once, "Well if you want to make a point of it; fine. MechWarrior. Regardless, we think we can help you out as well if you can scratch our back in turn."

This was what Roric wanted to see, "That is my plan. I learned from the debrief that you lead this Martian Freedom League?"

"That's correct; my MFL are considered extremists by the mainstream, but they've forgotten the pain Gjallerhorn has put us through," Geddin was steely-faced, jaw clenched as he paused, "While most of them embrace the Cordelia plan of unifing with the Earth power blocs economically, we know it won't be that easy."

"The plight of the oppressed deserves aid," began Roric cautiously, "however, my MechWarriors and I have a certain code of ethics. We don't kill children, and we don't terrorize civilians."

Carlos smiled, "Good, neither do we. Our quarrel is with Gjallerhorn. We only kill their lackies," he nodded, "Speaking of, if you're interested, we have a couple of situations that need addressing."

Roric nodded, "We are looking for payment in resources; silicon, Titanium, hydrogen. If you can accommodate, we can do business."

Roric watched as Carlos thought, looking off to the side, hoping that stipulation wouldn't kill the entire deal. If it did, salvage would have to do. That didn't mean Roric liked that prospect though...

"We..." Carlos began, slowly smiling, "may have just the job for you then. There is a Gjallerhorn facility just past the lip of the Hellas basin. It has large stores of raw materials they've extorted, and are wishing to ship off-world..."

Roric could see where this was going; and he liked it. This was a plan that could put them on the map with this locals and rebels, effectively charity, honestly..." What's the catch?"

"Its heavily defended, and a resupply convoy will be bringing in nine new Mobile Suits and half a regiment of Mobile Workers today."

Carlos was impassive as he spoke, Stone faced and resolute. A test: see if these heroes for hire could really pull off a serious jig.

"They have air support from the nearby Hadriaca Air Base, so any strike will have to be fast and hard. You in?"

The pause before the question told Roric that the real test of this working relationship would be a matter of trust. Those materials, all of them, were on the rebels lists. The real question then, was if Roric was willing to put his team into the fire over a *potential* pay off...

"I want one thing clear," Roric leaned forwards, a slim smile on his face, "We liberate those resources, our pay comes out of that. We'll snag as much as we can, but we don't work for charity."

There it was: that stone facade cracked into a wry, dark smile.

"We have a deal, Roric. We'll get some transports at the entrance to the Basin, you load them up, we get them out of there. We both make off like bandits."

Carlos was a dangerous man, that much Roric could tell. It wouldn't do to assume he would double cross just yet... Still, years of mercenary work had taught that, without the Mercenary Review Board, things always got tense.

"Transmit the rendezvous for our teams, we want a 35% cut of this haul. We'll have a ground team standing by," Roric confirmed. Carlos narrowed his gaze, that dangerous grin not fading.

"Deal. Stand by for the coordinates. Carlos, Out."

The screen winked out, leaving Roric alone. With a release of breath, he leaned back, frowning. This was pretty far from optimal. It would remain to be seen if this was a mistake, but if it was... Carlos would have some balls to pull a double cross after having their shit bailed out. Roric had dealt with hardened revolutionaries before, and knew the risks of playing ball with such types. Still...

If this "Gjallerhorn" was as omnipotent as advertised, and as malicious as they seemed, then this would be not just the opportunity they needed to repair the JumpShip, but also a chance to do some real good. Roric quickly messaged his right hand, filling her in on the new job and their target, with instructions to set the DropShip close enough for Thor to sortie for this operation as well.

He keyed his radio, "Warlord, Cover Girl, Scratch, report to my quarters please," he paused, and received an affirmative from the last two. Andrew didn't reply, but that was probably because of the knock on his door moments later. He rose from his desk and made his way to his closet, pulling out his own cooling vest: it was time to make a show of force. Let everyone know just what the Rangers were capable of... "Come in."

The door swung open, and Andrew stepped inside, "As ordered, sir; what's the mission?"

"Smash and grab," Roric said eagerly, pulling his shirt off and dropping his pants: the usual convention for MechWarriors who ran their mechs hot was to strip down to just the cooling vest and skivvies. The heat of those behemoths was so extreme it could overwhelm the life support and, in very specific Mechs, could even cook their Mechwarrior alive if they disabled the safety shutdown, "We move in, destroy all opposition, and escort the resources to the drop point."

Andrew nodded, knowing his role already. This wasn't their first raid, and once Scratch got in, the two would run over who would be wing-man for the other. Warlord was already pretty certain the Clanner would be wanting front and center with the Centurion, but that wasn't a sure shot the Feddie would just let him have it.

"Petrikov," announced the man in question, the small Liao woman Lishu right behind him, "Reporting as ordered."

"Good; we are making a raid, Rangers;" Roric restated, earning a delighted smile from Lishu, "smash and grab, quick as we can manage."

Alarms began to sound across the ship made final preparations to lift off. The shaking across the decks announced that the thrusters were spooled up and pushing off. Soon, Gjallerhorn would witness the ferocity that the Rangers could bring to bear.

[+INCOMING TRANSMISSION+]

Fabrication facilities were usually somewhat autonomous; a robotic arm could do what a team of workers would be needed for, at a fraction of the cost. That did not mean Fabrication Plant 13 was empty. To the contrary, a fresh shift of workers had just come up for their work months. While the commute was rather extreme, Gjallerhorn paid for it, and the pay was enough for the three months out of work to be, at least, comfortable. The forty some engineers were joined by a team of fourteen scientists, as well as their Foreman and the head scientist from the Phobos labs.

Richter and Gideon watched from their observation deck as the fabrication plant floor came to life after the shift change. Machines were being oiled, maintained, and in a few hours, production would begin once more. More than Half metal was processed here, or it would be in short order.

"Preliminary reports are good, but we'll need to scale it up to really see its strengths," finished Gideon, explaining the details behind the new prototype servos that had been designed in twenty hours of frantic autopsy and research. A new day was dawning over Mars, twenty four hours since first Contact, and already there were advancements being made.

It seemed that when a bear fell asleep, it needed a strong enough kick to wake it back up. Richter hoped this new threat would be enough, because if it wasn't, Earth would be starving for Half Metal before the year was out, and there would be nothing anyone could do about it.

"We need to talk about the armor too," Richter said, refocusing on the current conversation, "our current design isn't cutting it."

"Nothing for it," Gideon said with a sigh, "Yet, at least. We have some ideas... They may be easier to test with Mobile Workers though."

"Mobile Workers? Against those things?" Richter asked, incredulously, "their size and speed would make them-"

"Cannon fodder, at current yes... However, the speed of the current Graze isn't enough," stated the scientist, watching as the machines below were being given their last shake down before coming back online, "the economic benefits to fielding a sturdier, slower tank may bare considering if the renewed tactics don't bear any fruit."

The concerns of both men with the going ons of the commanders had less to do with actual insight on how best to utilize their tools, and more with the potential optimization of resources. Both of them could see from the video feed, whatever these so-called UMA were, they followed no design conventions of Earth, nor did they utilize any of the battlefield tactics and principles that had developed over hundreds of years.

They were, pure and simple, so alien as to be incomparable. That did not mean they were incomprehensible.

"Any news on the ablative armor?" asked Richter, changing the subject to a project the science team had just begun. While nano-laminate was the be-all of Mobile Suit warfare, new technologies and new approaches would be needed. That new development was heat resistant and dispersing armor that could go beneath the nano-laminate to better protect the machine and its pilot.

"Preliminary testing," Gideon lamented, taking his nose between his fingers as he closed his eyes, "God, I could use some coffee... Can we continue this in the cafeteria?"

The foreman chuckled, and nodded, "Of course, let's get some Joe."

They made their way out of the office, through the door and began to cross the gantry over top of the production line. The final refit was underway, and the line was about to come back up after its brief downtime once more. A few engineers were joking and working as they talked, a small crowd gathered over one of the more ornery welding arms.

"Hows Grechin doing this morning?" called Richter, referring to the machine in question, named after the most ornery grandmother any of the engineers could imagine, "She got her oil?"

"Servo fried," called one of the techs, turning and walking towards the catwalk. Richter stopped and leaned over the railing, listening in, "we were going to pull her out of service, but someone got the bright idea to try changing the fuses and rewiring the fuse box."

Well, that was going to take hours... "Any clue if it'll work?" Richter asked, concerned for the impact taking Grechin out of service would cause, "If it's a lost cause..."

The worker shrugged, that non committal 'Iunno' shrug, "It's worth a shot; worst case, we know it's not the wiring."

Foreman vonHiemont nodded, and gave a crisp pointer-finger, "I want it done before Oh-Nine-Thirty," and left it at that. The techs would work their miracles, probably get it done by Ten. That would shave an hour off the probable up-time of Eleven, if they pulled this off without a hitch.

Which, they wouldn't, because this was an industrial plant and if nothing else, if it needed to get done, it would probably take a month of planning and ten seconds of work to do. Or, the other way around, if it cost more money... Richter rose, turning back to Gideon, and waved him onward towards the break room, just a few more yards ahead of them.

"I heard Commander Kita requested reinforcements," Doctor Gideon said in passing as he opened the door for his compatriot, "Apparently she's had three Battalions, as well as Lieutenant Zent's command, transferred over."

" _The_ Crank Zent?" clarified Richter, stepping into the break room as the two talked idle gossip, "I heard he was involved in the Olympus Incident... If anyone can turn the tide, it's that man."

Lieutenant Crank Zent was a bit of a legend among Martian Gjallerhorn, regarded as one of the most honorable and chivalrous of its commanders. This was backed up with years of practical experience, keen acumen in dueling, and a battlefield presence that was second to none. He was a better man, in every respect, than either Ace Armon or Captain Shroud. Shroud was a piss-poor pilot compared to either of the others, though his command experience could rival Zent on a good day. As for Armon? He had three less Mobile Suit kills than Lieutenant Zent.

To get _that_ kind of reinforcement meant that high command was taking this seriously, and very likely, would throw additional resources their way. For a foreman like Richter, that meant more materials, and maybe even more funding to repair some decaying facilities. Maybe, if this panned out just right, they might even be able to hire on a few more engineers, to smooth along operations in the day-to-day.

"I..." Richter whistled, pausing to really take in the implications, "Honestly, can't entirely believe it. That's amazing news, for the whole war effort!"

Gideon grabbed the pot of coffee, nodding in agreement, "Indeed, though it seems that he's under-strength. His unit is going to get Armor added to it, while we figure out better ways to deal with these Aliens."

And there it was. The Aliens finally came up... Richter pulled a disposable cup out of a container, offering it to Gideon, before getting one of his own.

"What do you think they want?" Richter asked the Scientist; while he was by no means an idiot, some of the more conjecture-focused discussions held details that eluded him. This was one such instance, as far as why aliens would attack instead of attempt peaceful contact first.

"Well, Mars is the only known source of Half Metal..." Gideon states, pouring Richter a cup as he does so, "And we have yet to pick up any Ahab signals from any of the Aliens... Perhaps they need it? It is a critical resource."

That was food for thought... Though the exact reasons would likely never be known, Richter supposed an attack to gain resources desperately needed would make sense. Perhaps Half Metal was so scarce outside the Sol system, the Aliens had to develop other methods of power generation? Was the Half Metal reserved for something else, then?

The two sipped silently for a time, enjoying the fresh coffee as friends do when there's nothing more to say. This peaceful quiet was ruined however, not even halfway through the coffee, by the sudden alarm of a boarding shuttle. Both the men looked at one another with confusion, and set their cups down to greet this newcomer.

The path to the airlock docks for personnel shuttles was just past the quarters, so the change of shift could swap out their belongings with minimal hassle. They easily walked past the rows of dormitories, standing before the airlock chamber as a number of figures began to shuffle in:

Nearly eighty engineers and workers, each with their own duffle bag of clothes and personal items for the stay were waiting for permission to enter. Incredulous, Richter keyed the intercoms, "Apologies, gentlemen, but the shift change just occurred... Could you explain yourself? We didn't receive any hails."

Two figures in crisp, Earth uniforms stepped forwards. They were calm, in control, and despite their age, seemed to be more mature than either of the scientists.

"I am Major Specialist McGillis is Fareed," the blond-haired man said with surety and calm, "and I am here to supervise and inspect the Martian defense infrastructure. I do hope the gift of a few extra hands won't be a fuss?"

[+END TRANSMISSION+]

(Another chapter to follow within March, I'll try to hold to one-two a month if I can, averaging 3.5-to-5k words. The next few chapters should be interesting to those of you who are fans of Gundam, we'll be following McGillis, and taking in the whole scope of these hectic 24-hours. We can expect some more juicy Robot-on-Robot violence within the next few chapters though!)


End file.
